Come Unwrapped
by woodsse
Summary: Blaine is carrying, literally, a secret that will tear through his and Kurt's emerging lives. When, just before Christmas, he has the chance to come clean and face his deepest fears, will fate, life or love prove the hardest obstacle to happiness? One Shot re-imagining of 'Glee, Actually'. Implied MPreg.
1. If on a Winter's Night

**All rather dark, I'm afraid, but hopefully enjoyable. Just a one-shot that was in my mind. Altered view on "Glee, Actually" Klaine storyline, with reference to the new love interest, Adam.**

**Hope you enjoy, and please R+R. Merry Christmas all!**

* * *

"K…kurt?"

Blaine still seemed to struggle to even say that name; even now, after another day in New York, another day in Kurt's new sphere of life. He slowly crossed the wooden floor of the oh-so-well decorated apartment, nervously attempting to smooth the pattern in his knitted cardigan, running his hands again and again over his stomach. He glanced nervously towards the bedroom areas, cordoned off only by curtains, but saw that there was no longer the light of a lamp drifting through the shimmering fabric; Burt might finally be asleep.

Kurt crossed behind the rough dining table, collecting dishes from their impromptu Christmas supper and placing them delicately into the sink, letting only the minimum amount of hot water run from the creaking tap. He turned his head lightly at the stuttered sound of his own name and gave a half smile.

"Mmm?"

Blaine reached the table and put both hands on the back of a chair, his fluttering eyes watching every move Kurt made, every flowing shape his body managed to form. The knot of pain and fear tightened somewhere behind his stomach, and he ran another slide of his palm over his abdomen, before self-consciously shoving it forward once more to grip the chair with white knuckles.

"Kurt…I…ah…"

Oh God. He couldn't say what he needed to say. Not after all the pain he had put Kurt through. But he needed to. It wouldn't wait. It wouldn't go away, just keep on…growing…

Oh God.

Blaine's breath died in his throat and he had to gasp for air. He was sweating. There was snow falling outside the single glazed loft window and Kurt was wrapped in layer on perfect layer, all the way to a mouse-grey woollen scarf, but Blaine was as burning warm as he had ever been. He felt sick. But that was nothing new right now. The acidic revulsion at the remains of the empty, gutted turkey which still stood on the table between them bubbled to the back of his dry throat, and he had to choke it back down again.

Kurt looked up again.

"What is it?"

He saw the look on Blaine's pale face and felt his heart shrink back from its brief happiness. Oh, what was it going to be this time? Kurt's mind tumbled over itself. No more drama, Blaine, please. Not right now; not today. Today had already exceeded its quota…

Dad's ill…again.

The thought tolled like a bell in his brain, shuddering through it, new and raw and incomprehensible. Cancer. _Cancer_.

So, please, Blaine…nothing more on top of that. He turned swiftly back to the sink, closing his eyes and breathing slowly. He had to stay strong and positive; he could deal with all of this. His dad was strong; nothing was going to keep him down for long. And he had Carol at home to look after him. And Kurt had NYADA and New York and a new start. And Adam. Kurt was strong. Stronger.

He allowed himself a small smile at the thought of that blonde, smiling face. Adam. He hadn't told his dad yet; he hadn't really had a chance since Blaine had turned up so quickly afterwards. But he would, it would be something they could put both their minds and energies towards, the best kind of distraction. If…if only Blaine would be understanding about it…

Carefully, Kurt placed the soapy dish in his hands onto the sideboard and turned round. Blaine hadn't moved; his hands were balled around the back of the wooden chair, his whole body rounding in and out with each breath, his eyes running around the floor. Kurt realised how long it had been since he'd really looked at him. Blaine was paler, somehow thinner in the face but larger in other ways, disorganised and reorganised from the boy Kurt had last known. He looked older.

"Blaine…?"

Kurt half wanted to call him out, to confront whatever this was about, but at the same time he was worried. He wished they could all just go to bed and wake up in the morning and start fresh, with his dad there to umpire all proceedings. He understood why his dad had thought it was a good idea to bring Blaine with him…the reassurance that there would be someone in Lima to watch over Burt and be there when Kurt couldn't be was a good thing…but now the day was old, dragging and, it seemed, stumbling towards inevitable difficulty. Don't go there, Blaine…not now…

Don't be too hard with him, Kurt, his mind prompted him. Because, sometime soon, he would have to tell Blaine about Adam. And that would be just as painful as whatever awkwardness was in store for him here. He hoped to God that Blaine had moved on, even the tiniest amount, just for his own good. He let one quick sigh escape his lips and tried again.

"What is it?"

In the meantime, Blaine had thought of all the things he had wanted to say before…before he learnt…about…it…

He knew Kurt didn't know he knew about Adam. That he _knew_ Adam, in fact. Ten days ago that would have been his opening question; a happy-go-lucky statement that would shock Kurt into seeing the Blaine had matured, that Blaine was ready and willing to let Kurt move on with his life. But now…

Blaine flustered, flapped and grabbed the front of his own shirt, twisting it up into his hands, wringing it out. Beneath it, his stomach churned and quaked, rippling with pain. Every part of his new existence was reminding him just how much he deserved this…punishment…this torture… He couldn't do this to Kurt. He couldn't put him through exactly the same thing, the same agony of conscience that he was feeling, not when Kurt had just begun building bridges again. For what felt like the millionth time, Blaine opened his mouth to talk and confess the prison into which he had plunged the two of them. But the words wouldn't come. He couldn't say it…couldn't repeat what he'd watched the doctor's mouth pronounce…or what he'd finally broken down and confessed to Burt…that he…that he was pr…

Why the hell did Kurt think he was here at all if he didn't have something horrendous to say to him? Why was Kurt being so nice and accommodating, when all Blaine's very presence in New York was doing was stifling his relationship with Adam? Adam. ADAM. Blaine's inner voice shouted, screamed the name at itself, willing some part of it to make any impression whatsoever. Didn't Blaine realise what he was ruining by being here? What he was destroying, minute by minute, day by day, week by week…month…by month…? All the possibility for happiness and success that Kurt had re-built for himself. Adam.

"Hh…hhh…how…is Adam?"

Blaine watched as Kurt's apprehensive face froze in alarm, but he couldn't take any satisfaction from it. He was no longer the brave man taking the high road. He was a coward. He was the torturer, showing his victim what they most desired before ripping it away from them forever.

"What?"

It was Kurt's turn to stutter and pale.

"How…? Who…who said…?"

Blaine allowed his eyes to meet Kurt's for a single second, so that he would see that there was nothing malicious in his question whatsoever. But then he had to turn them away again. Any more than a second, and Kurt might discover him. Might know what Blaine was keeping…inside…oh God…

The thought spun him once more. Another ripple of nausea. Blaine slid into the waiting chair, his legs folding and shaking beneath him. He swallowed. He had to keep going.

"Uh…Rachel…she…"

But Kurt cut across him before he could finish.

"She told you?"

His voice rose, angry and ashamed. But Blaine fought more words out.

"No. No, I already knew."

Kurt slid away from the counter against which he had been leaning and pulled out the nearest chair, keeping a distance between the two of them. Blaine watched him, swallowing hard and feverishly wiping his damp curls away from his eyes before stumbling on.

"She…she introduced you to him, didn't she?"

Kurt still didn't understand; Blaine was speaking in statements, not questions. His mind raced. If…if Blaine had known all along, then…then how long was 'all along'? When had Rachel brought them together? At that party…but that was at least three weeks ago. Maybe over a month…it was right after Thanksgiving. Somewhere in the middle of this he managed to nod a reply to Blaine.

"I…I gave her his number, Kurt."

Miraculously, Blaine felt the smallest weight lift from his shoulders. This, if nothing else, proved that he had, at one time, wanted the best for Kurt.

But for Kurt, nothing was getting clearer.

"What? But…but we'd just talked…on Thanksgiving…I called you, and you said...Why, why would you do something like that? Did you know him then?"

Kurt's heart stopped for a second and a hundred stifled memories of betrayal flooded into his mind.

"Were you _with_ Ad…did you…_see_ him? Before…?"

Blaine choked on his tiny portion of relief.

"No. No, Kurt, never. I'd never do somethi…"

Blaine stopped at the look in Kurt's eyes. Eli. Yes. Yes, you would do something _exactly_ like that. You did, you ungrateful little bastard.

"I…I've never met him in person, Kurt. Only online. He runs the Glee Club page on the NYADA chatroom, you must know that. And…and…I was looking at places to apply for…for college…"

Blaine swore that his vision blurred at even the mention of that now so distant dream. He twitched at the hem of his shirt and tried to fan it against his burning skin, watching as it fell against his…his swollen stomach…then tugging his cardigan around his shoulders and pushing himself against the table, squeezing, compressing, suffocating…

But Kurt saw none of this. Blaine. Blaine had _given_ him Adam. Why? Blaine's voice blabbered back into the silence, tumbling and running over itself.

"He…he seemed really nice…He…he reminded me of you, Kurt. And he was there…here…with you…in New York…where I couldn't be. And I knew he would look out for you and care for you…and…and treat you right…"

Kurt kept looking at the twisting figure in front of him. He felt as if Blaine had tried to say this to himself a thousand times, but Blaine's face told him that the words were not sounding how he thought they would.

"So you…you set me up with someone new?"

Kurt tried to smile. It really was a kind of revelation; he would never have thought Blaine could have done something like this. Not after how crushed he had sounded at Thanksgiving…the 'I love you's'…the apologies. This was selfless. And Blaine was still here for him, helping his dad, filling his Christmas. But as he spoke, Blaine avoided his eyes again, letting out forced breath after forced breath.

"Hey? Blaine?"

Kurt tried, sliding one seat closer and stretching his hand out across the surface of the table, reaching for the stiff arms that were being forced down below the table, trying to catch those hazel eyes.

"Blaine…Thank you."

"NO. No, Kurt. No."

Blaine jumped back with panic, struggling up and throwing himself away from Kurt's offered hand, allowing the cardigan to drop from his clenched fist for a second before snatching it up again and leaning heavily against the edge of the table. The room contracted around him, charging against him. Blaine screwed his eyes shut and bound his belly in his arms. It was…it was so hot…But…but he had to tell Kurt…

But…but Kurt knew, had to know already…instinct…it was Kurt…_it_ was Kurt…it _was _Kurt…part Kurt…part him…whole…inseparable…

Unbreakab…

Something had hold of him by the shoulders. Blaine tried to shrug it off, feeling the surface of the table slide under his wet palms, staggering, slumping, gagging. More hands on his back as his whole body contracted and stinking, bitter bile rushed out of his throat. Loud sounds were echoing all around his head, distorting in the heat, shimmering and vague, but reminding him of his name.

But then…then a white hot knife of pain was plunged into his side…

He was leaning on his elbows, unable to keep his head from lolling forwards, his hair uncurling and brushing the table…

The knife was twisted, drawn in and out with each shuddering breath. Blaine looked…looked down at himself and saw the blood running down his leg…soaking out through his dark trousers, darker and darker…

One more twist, and the leg he watched fell away. The floor came up to catch him. More than two hands were on him now, and he was rolled over, looking up into a face that his mind called 'Burt'. Burt's hands in his hair, holding his head. Two other hands on his chest, two off his chest…one, brushing against the source of all the pain: his stomach, his swollen abdomen…his…baby…

One hand in his hand…squeezing…and Blaine squeezed back.

"Kurt…lose…can't…no…"

* * *

Kurt could not be seeing what he was seeing. Blaine.

Blaine. Crumpling against the table in an instant. Being sick; retching and vomiting onto the bare floorboards. And then screaming.

Screaming as blood bled down his legs. As it stained the wooden floor. As he fell, against Kurt, against the table.

His dad was there. Burt was there, and he was yelling at Kurt to call an ambulance. 911. And Kurt did.

But there was Blaine, lying in front of him. Bleeding. Clutching at his chest. No; his stomach. No. Not even that. His…his raised, bigger, grown, filled…occupied…belly…

Pregnant Blaine. Blaine's baby. Their…baby…

His child.

In New York. With Blaine. A family.

Lost.


	2. Come What May

Kurt had been looking at the phone clasped between his two pale hands for God-knows how long. The bright lights of the hospital waiting room reflected in his screen, lighting up the picture of a face. At first he'd been staring into the bright blue, laughing eyes of Adam's contact photo, but he couldn't bring himself to do that anymore. What was he going to say? How could he possibly phrase all that had happened since their last conversation, less than a day ago?

_Hey Adam, how's England? How's Christmas? Me? Yeah, ok. Sorry I didn't Skype you like I said I was going to last night; funny thing was my dad turned up. With Blaine. So I wasn't really free to chat. And…and now my dad has cancer and I'm at the hospital but it's not for him it's for Blaine because he was trying to tell me something last night and oh God he told me all about how he'd been the one who set us up and how he gave Rachel your number and why did you never tell me you knew who he was but Adam listen Adam he came to tell me something and now he's in the hospital because he collapsed and he was bleeding but Adam oh God they're saying things about a baby and…and…_

Kurt just kept staring. How could he do anything else? It was the only appropriate response right now. His dad had gone…somewhere…some time ago. He didn't know where. He assumed it was something to do with Blaine. Paperwork. Or to make that phone call that Kurt couldn't have listened to, to Blaine's mum and dad. What were they doing right now, what were they about to have shattered? Kurt knew he should be desperate with worry about Blaine, that he should be pacing up and down the corridors or overturning carts full of metal hospital equipment that would make really impressive noises as they fell everywhere, reflecting how he felt inside, but he couldn't. He'd seen Blaine scream, seen him in so, so much pain, writhing in agony as the paramedics took him down in the elevator, seen him go so pale in the back of the ambulance, so pale in contrast to the bright scarlet that had stained his cream chinos and Kurt's clasping hands. Kurt twisted his phone slightly. He hadn't imagined it; the red blood had dried and now stuck out in flakes from his own smooth palms. But he wasn't thinking about Blaine at all.

As he turned his hands he saw the eyes of a small girl, sitting across from him in the waiting area, following his movements. Her father, he supposed, sat next to her with a small boy in his lap who was wearing a tea-towel as a sling, whilst her mother filled in a form on a clipboard, her face tired but kind. Kurt now saw that they were both watching him. He went to put his phone back in his pocket, and saw that he had more blood, more of Blaine's blood, on his own trousers.

But was it Blaine's blood? Blaine's alone? To stop himself from crying, from giving in to the black blankness that was threatening to envelop all parts of his brain, Kurt flicked with one finger at the tissue-paper thin crimson film on his left hand, watching as it gradually peeled back. He glanced up again and caught the girl's eyes still watching him. She had beautiful eyes, big, brown and framed by sweeping locks of dark chestnut hair that had been reined into two chubby bunches that sat at different heights on the top of her head. His fingers flicked once more and a dried square came loose, floating between his palms and down to the pale linoleum floor. They both watched it fall and in that moment Kurt finally grasped all that he might have lost. His hands froze at once and then he began to desperately try to press the tiny flakes back onto his palm, which grew instantly tacky and damp beneath his finger. But it was no use, they were coming away and sticking to the pad of his finger instead, or swirling down to join that first one on the floor. It was all wrong, it was all no use. He caught the little girl staring at him one more time and saw her turn away, her eyes even wider with fright as his hands moved frantically over one-another.

She reached her little chin up to look first at her little brother, and then at the man holding him, and in a child's whisper that Kurt would have heard ten feet away, she began to ask him why that strange man was doing what he was doing. But Kurt never heard more than the first word of her sentence.

"Daddy…"

He lost it. He buried his face in his hands and wept, not caring that he was crying into his blood-soaked hands, not caring that he was rehydrating streams of pink and cherry red that were dripping down into his lap, not caring that it was going all over his face. Or caring too much; caring as much as anyone ever could about anything, because he, Kurt Hummel, might just have lost the child that he never knew he had, and all that he would have left of them would be whatever part of them remained in the blood that was on his hands. It was everywhere, it was all over him. Even the smell of it was in his nostrils, stinging them. How could he ever get away from it? How would he ever let himself get away from it? For what portion of time had he been a…a father…without knowing it? A few weeks…a month…a few months? Had he known? Some small, small atomic part of him must have known for it to hurt this much; his body knew what it had done, what it had started, what part of itself it had planted. Otherwise how…how could he not be thinking about Blaine at all, how could he be falling apart over a thing, over a person he'd never know?

"It's going to be ok."

Kurt felt a tentative hand brush over his shoulders and felt something soft pressed onto the outsides of his hands in front of his eyes. A tissue. His fingers curled out to accept the kind gesture of a stranger, but he couldn't unfurl himself from his grief. The hand brushed up and down his back once more, but then stopped as the tears kept flowing.

It's what the paramedics had said to Blaine, as they'd try to pry his hands away from his stomach to get him to lie flat on the gurney…_"It's going to be ok."_

Kurt let out a sharp angry sob from beneath his hands. How many times a day did they say that? How many times was it ever ok?

No. No, it was impossible.

When Blaine had fallen down, when he'd been lying on the floor and his shirt had fallen flat against him for the first time that night, Kurt had seen it. The irrepressible rise in his front, the swell of a belly beneath the fabric. A part of himself wrapped up in someone else, someone he'd once loved, then hated, then…then…he didn't know…If someone had phoned him a week ago to tell him that Blaine was in the hospital, what would he have felt? Concern? Of course; until he knew whether it was serious or not. Worry? Maybe a little. Kurt never liked hospitals; in his mind they were places that put people he cared about in danger, and he didn't like anyone he knew being in danger. And perhaps a pang of old, deadened grief for what they'd been? Sure; but it wouldn't be enough to ignite any longing, and that would then make him sad, because it would make him realise what he'd truly lost, what they'd had but thrown away…but now? That bump beneath Blaine's skin filled his vision like nothing else. Mad thoughts flew through his mind…Had Blaine hurt…it, just like he had hurt Kurt himself? What was Blaine thinking in flying to New York in the cold of Christmas when he was…was…pregnant? The word weighed as heavy as lead upon Kurt's dazed mind.

His dad. Burt had had to have known, or else why would he have brought Blaine with him…? The sight of Blaine, pale, sweating, leaning up against that chair, against the table before crashing to the floor replayed over and over in Kurt's mind. But now, in every scene, the bulge that Blaine was desperately trying to deflect his attention from was all Kurt could see, swollen to what must be five times its real size…what _had_ been its actual size…

What had Blaine been doing? They'd ended up talking about Adam, hadn't they? That was stupid…so, so stupid…Why hadn't Blaine told him?

But then Kurt realised.

Blaine had been trying to tell him. But he'd been trying to protect him at the same time. Trying to keep the pain to himself, trying to make it so that the news might only be a burden on one of them. He'd…he'd been trying to let Kurt stay free…

"Mr Hummel?"

The female voice rang out across the waiting room and Kurt's hands snapped away from his face in an instant. The voice belonged to a doctor in a white coat; olive skinned with curls of dark hair piled up on the top of her head. The coat reached almost to the ground on her small frame and she was bobbing on tip-toes as she scanned the hunched figures in the plastic seats, clip-board pressed against her chest. Kurt stood up at once and walked quickly towards her, watching her face as she registered the state that he was in and quickly trying to wipe his face on the sleeve of his jacket. He didn't care how much he ruined the camel suede or how much the beadwork scratched at his face, he was numb with dread. She glanced down at his hand as he reached her, as if going to shake it, but then decided not to, keeping both hands tight on her clipboard. Quickly and professionally she drew out of the entrance to the waiting area and towards the beginning of an nondescript cream corridor before turning back to Kurt once more, looking alternately up into his face and down at the notes in front of her. Kurt tried to read them ahead of her, but his eyes were as blurry as his mind; instead he found himself opening and closing his eyes in slow succession as her words washed over him.

"Mr Hummel, I'm Doctor Bardini, Mr Anderson's attending physician."

Kurt said nothing. She didn't seem to expect him to.

"I'm sorry you've been waiting so long; there's a sanitised cloakroom just off the ER if you'd like to clean yourself up at all…"

Kurt clasped his bloodied hands together. How long had he been waiting? It didn't seem long.

"But Mr Anderson was in quite a seriously condition when he arrived here, and our priority had to be in his stabilisation before we could begin a series of tests…"

Blaine was ok then, stable at least. But what about…

"Mr Hummel…"

Her eyes were on his this time, and her voice lifted for a question.

"Mr Hummel, I'm sorry to seem informal and overly personal, but I have to ask; what is your relationship with Mr Anderson?"

"I'm…" Kurt's brain stumbled over itself. What was the adult-world word? "I'm his ex…partner"

She made a small note in a box on a form a few pages below the top of her clipboard and nodded sympathetically.

"And Mr Anderson was a guest at your residence last night?"

What did this have to do with anything? "Yes."

"And his family? His next of kin?"

Hadn't Burt been sorting all this out? "Ohio. Well, his father travels and his mother goes on vacation a lot but…"

She nodded again and made another note. Kurt felt frustration rising inside of him. Blaine was somewhere in this building, so why was he standing here answering redundant questions?

"Listen, Doctor…"

She pursed her lips in a sad smile, seemingly knowing what he was going to ask.

"Mr Hummel, I'm very sorry but the rules of confidentiality in a case like this are very complicated." She shifted in her coat and Kurt suddenly saw the word "Obstetrician" on the badge pinned to her pocket. "Mr Anderson is still unconscious at the moment following the procedure to stop the bleeding in his abdomen; once he regains consciousness he'll be able to decide whether you can be added to the list of people who can be admitted to see him whilst he's under observation. Alternatively, if we are able to make contact with his parents, they can name you as suitable representative in their place in absentia. So I'm afraid it is still a process of waiting before we can allow you to see him, or give you any exact information about his condition. He is now considered stable, however."

Kurt found himself nodding with his eyes closed, but really he agreed with nothing. New tears welled behind his eyes. He was…he was the…father…he had a right to know if…

She glanced into his face once more time, swallowed and looked back at the notes. "But, um, Mr Hummel, if I can give you one piece of advice for the moment, strictly aside from Mr Anderson…"

Kurt blinked quickly, the tears breaking away down his cheeks. She held the board back against herself and moved a single step down the corridor.

"I don't think it's quite time to stop praying, yet, Mr Hummel."


End file.
